


Something New, Something Strange

by Drabbleshy, TwistingShadows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Colors, Flower Crowns, Flowers, M/M, Magical Accidents, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, alternative universe, professor dumbledore - Freeform, tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drabbleshy/pseuds/Drabbleshy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistingShadows/pseuds/TwistingShadows
Summary: A boy of hate and anger and hurt resides in Hogwarts and he's planning some pretty big things. Things of hate and anger and hurt and nothing is going to change that.An ordinary boy walks into his life and suddenly something is happening to him.Something new, something strange.





	1. Just Another Gryffindor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [backseatoftheimpala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/backseatoftheimpala/gifts).



> This fanfiction will slowly grow from a General Audience tag to Explicit tag.  
> This fanfiction will gain more tags as it continues, to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Drabbleshy on Tumblr

In the past few years, Hogwarts has seen the unthinkable; a Slytherin and a Gryffindor growing to be _friends_. The feud of the two Houses has existed since their youngest moments, the first Heads of the groups unable to stand each other. The oddest of friends they were, Harry Potter  & Tom Marvolo Riddle. Incidentally, both men had taken a peculiar interest in the muggle culture.

 

Admittedly, the latter, a few mere years older than Harry, had no such interests before his third year at Hogwarts; he had things to do, he was tired and sick of the fools that muggles were, and the way they had behaved towards him and treated him. He had a strong dislike for them, a hate of sorts.

The Slytherin clapped in an uproar once more as another student had been announced as a Slytherin; it was certainly a good year for this particular House, and so it was for Hufflepuff, too, peculiarly. Both houses had come up with more students than usually and Tom enjoyed the various selection of distasteful look that oft popped up on their face with every new Slytherin immensely. In fact, he was staring at one such man right now, a boy, no more than 15. His top lip and a muscle above it twitched in anger. The Headmaster himself could come up to him, turn the boy into a ferret and it couldn’t satisfy Tom more than this small victory. One of his friends, Lucius, nudged him with a grin. “Tom, this is amazing! We’ll surely win the cup now!”

“You’re forgetting that I’m still on your team, L,” he retorted with a smirk, turning to face him. “But a little help never goes by unnoticed. My dear friends are always reported.” People exchanged knowing glances at this, very appreciative of Tom’s little gifts and help.

“Potter, Harry!” yelled Professor Dumbledore and settled the Hat on the, now sitting, boy. The last name was familiar to Tom, but he couldn’t place it. Perhaps he had read it, somewhere amongst the many papers and family trees; wizards weren’t too talented or able when it came to organising or actually writing down information. He shrugged it off, as the child seemed  _ too  _ child-like. No self-respecting wizard family would have a young one act so.

 

“...  **GRYFFINDOR!** ”  _ Useless. Just another obstacle in the road. _

 

And, yet, this  _ child _ had entered his life and ruined it all within a year. At first, Tom found himself staring at the “child” during certain meals, and it would wave back. In fact, Harry had been the first to greet Tom in the hallways, to start up a conversation, to try and form a friendship with him. Tom had shrugged him off countless times; “Hey, sorry, but I have a class to get to, so...”

Yet, it came back time and time again, and Tom let it happen. Tom let him walk from class to class, by his side, let him do all the talking but the younger boy hadn’t minded really; he had merely thought of Tom as a shy kid, with a lack of friends, So he spoke, about muggle objects such as still cameras, pens and rubber duckies, a lot of things that Tom already knew of before but that had, eventually, managed to entertain him; a smile, a chuckle, even a full on laughter. Harry’s eyes seemed as large as oceans and as bright as stars that day and Tom could never force himself to forget that moment.

 

_ “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,”  _ was being sung through the streets of London, Hampshire and other UK cities, just as Harry was singing it through the corridors. He had finally managed to have Tom agree to actually spend time together outside of classes; the halls were too busy, they sat at different tables during breakfast, lunch, and dinner and they were not allowed to enter each other’s Houses. Hence, the only option was the outside, if they still wished to catch the sunlight. Tom’s pale skin shone in contrast of Harry’s tanned pigment, making them stand out as they walked and spoke, of little things. Then, a question that the taller Riddle had been afraid of had elegantly snuck into their conversation;

 

“Tom,” Harry called as he tried catching up, cursing the long legs his conversational partner possessed, “Are you seeing your family for Christmas, Tom?”

Colour drained from the man’s cheeks, falling behind as the younger child hopped forward for a few more moments.  _ A creaking bed, a dusty closet, laughter, shouti-- Don’t let them see you cry, Tom. Don’t let them see you c-- Pointing children, slow-motion laughter, the feeling of pain spreading through his body, filling his lungs like air, like poison, like water. Drowning, falling, darkness covering his ey--  _

 

…

 

**“T-Tom?”**


	2. That Which We Call a Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is off. Something is new.  
> And we're pretty sure that we just released a beast or a beauty.  
> We're not sure... Stay inside, kids.

The world is grey. It has always been grey for Tom Marvolo Riddle. He had rooted for the specific shade of grey and white that were the colours of the Slytherin; his “friends” had called them green and silver, and it had taken time, but Tom had managed to adapt to these new rules without major consequences. He had always managed to be the popular one, the prominent one in any and all groups and that meant change. Constant change...

_Dark surrounds him, wherever he turns. A scene appears, an endless sea of grass, a nearly cloudless sky above. A light, cool breeze skims over the tall grass, and into Tom’s face. He seems to stand on a small hill, an uprising, covered with short grass and the occasional root of the nearby tree, on which he now leans against. Sliding down, he sighs, feeling dizzy and noxious. He takes a deep breath, looking around, pausing as he spots it. And the world goes dark._

 

“He just fell an--” the young, familiar voice blurs, disappearing. The brightness of the room, reflecting on the spotless sheets and curtains harming his eyes.

“And you saw nothi-... -aps, there was something that cau--” the older voice, the first wizard voice he had ever heard and remembered, had faded for a second or an eternity. He blinked away the silence, ringing in his ear.

“You,” said a lovely woman’s voice, “Harry, you must let him rest for a few days, yes?” He couldn't see anybody but he guessed that Harry nodded his hair, unsure, due to the nurse retorting with “Good. Don’t worry about it, come on.” A pause, as the doors opened. “Have a good day, Harry. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“What about my flowers? Will he see my flo-” Harry inquired, rather excited and worried.

“He will, I'll tell him all about it. Good d--”

“And don’t forget to as--”

“Good _bye,_ Harry.” The doors closed shortly after that. “Dear me, that boy will be the death of me...” As she pulled up a chair, Tom sat up silently in his bed, biting the inside of his cheek as it creaked at one point. His “room”, constructed of curtains, separating him of other beds and possible patients, was partially filled with a few Wizarding treats, amongst which, Tom noted, were Chocolate Frogs, Acid Pops and a small glass of Bat's Blood Soup. Hm. The latter one, he concluded, meant somebody liked him. Of course, they did.

There were also a few flowers and roses, and bouquets lying around, all as grey as ever.

He laid back down, releasing an exasperated sigh; school work, social circles, so much to catch up on. He believes that it has been at least a few days, due to the sheets, the state of some of the flowers, the likes. He turns to lay on his side and takes a quick, sudden breath, nearly jumping back. _“What in the...”_

“Tom, is that you?” inquired the nurse, the chair pushed back against the tiled floor.

“Y-Yes, miss...” He stumbled over his words, still staring at... **_IT._ **

“You sound frightened, what is the matter?” Her voice had moved closer now, worrisome.

“A-a nightmare, miss, um...” he quickly lied.

“Miss Lumbark, Tom. Are you sure it was a nightmare, Riddle, I specifically remember giving you a Dreamless Slee--”

“Yes, quite certain.”

“Strange. Let me examine you; I'm coming in.” Tom shrugged. He didn't care about much right now, just one thing: why is that damn rose **not grey**? Perhaps a shade of a black, or a dash of white may be appropriate for it, but gosh darn it, not whatever the Hell this was. “Now, let us begin," she nearly ordered, "Raise your shirt."

"Miss Lamb--"

"For the last time, Tom, it is  _Lumbark_."

"Apologies, Miss Lumbark. I'm just tired is all. Could you tell me wh--" he was about to lift the rose when she interrupted him.

"Deep breath now!" she said, placing a small ball against his chest, bringing it close her face and giving it a good shake. "Excellent result, deary!"

Meanwhile, Tom sighed; "What would you describe this colour as?" She gave it a small glance, waving her wand above him.

"Vermilion," she replied curtly.

"O-oh, no, could you, maybe, be more precise?"

She looked at him, almost frightened that her answer wasn't enough. "P-Perhaps it's more of a darker shade, yes? What do you think of it?" she asked in return.

"O-oh, well!" he was already stumbling over his own words. How could a few seconds lead to nearly destroying years worth of work? "It's, um, t-totally... beautiful, don't you agree."

They both nodded and ended all communications there.

 

It had been a few more days before he was allowed to leave, remaining candy and all. He kept the red rose, though it too had begun to lose its colour. Tom found that this had upset him, but in an unfamiliar way; nor bitter sadness, nor flaming anger. No, it was softer, a sadness, a strange pain in his chest.

As soon as he had spotted them, he thought his sickness would be cured, but no! No more than a day after he had been released, he stepped into the Grear Hall, pointed at the enemy House's flag and yelled: "There, right there!" The Gryffindor red everywhere, occasional red flowers or red creatures swimming past the window in the Slytherin chambers. He oft fell asleep observing it before the incident, but today he found no rest. It had taken a toll on his social circles, his friends noting his lack of movement or activity, which, at the very least, helped him avoid Potter as much as possible.

 

"Tom, Tom!" Harry shouted as the other had been boarding the train. Harry seemed to be carrying a few packages, probably money from his parents.

 _"Oh, grea-_ Hi, Harry! What a busy school year, yes? Well, I should be off a--" he tried getting rid of this walking, talking headache. The new colour had given him enough of the regular ones.

"Before you go, please, Tom. Just listen to me... Thank you for an amazing year. I was really worried about First Year and then you... accepted me and thank you." Harry gave a shy smile as he finished and nearly more was said, by either side, but the whistle blew and they could only exchange nods before Harry squeezed past Tom and went into his cabin, with other friends. Tom... minded, so to say.  _Tom hummed a[familiar song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nFa0E_GwJ30),_ but couldn't think of which one it actually was.

 

He passed all of this off as a phase; hoped and begged, actually, that it was. All of this was too much. He gave it a week. Then a month. Eventually, it piled up to the beginning of next year, at which point he had read enough spell and Wizard history books to graduate Hogwarts thrice, yet found **no** explanation nor solution to his “colourful” problem. Without realising it, he had grown to like the red. It reminded him of Harry, he found, and he'd give a little chuckle at the ridiculous idea of "missing" him.

 

“Tom, Tom Riddle!” Harry shouted as they got off board, and, for once, Tom didn't mind. In fact, he **grinned**.


	3. The Lonely Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."
> 
> \- Edgar Allan Poe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for TwistingShadows, who was my Beta for this chapter.

As the sights, such as rivers and the vast forests of the countryside vividly rushed past them, Tom sighed and slumped back in his seat. Flashes of red brought small smiles to his face, which disappeared as quick as they had appeared. Now, he placed his feet up on the soft seat of the train cabin as two of his "friends" watched him impatiently. This was his fourth year going to Hogwarts; it made him think of the events that had transpired since his birth, and the events that would come to be so soon. He had begun gathering attention and companions, strong ones. He had even researched old Wizard families, Potter's included.  _ Harry Potter. _ He would have to ask him if his first name came to be due to his grandfathers, Henry Potter. It might have, but he wasn't sure; he didn’t wish to assume and then be wrong. Nobody spoke much of their family, most attention going to the Malfoys and the Blacks.

He thought of Dumbledore, wondering whether the man would know, having been here for so long, but he hadn't gathered the strength to ask him; the man was much like him, Tom noted. The professor could observe and come to his own conclusions, and that was dangerous. “Why are all tasks complicated and unnervingly difficult when it came to this, this child,” he pondered through the long ride.

Lucius woke him from his deeper thoughts, "Is something wrong, Tom?" he inquired, pronouncing the name quite carefully, as if the wrong tune may end his very life. "Perhaps," the blonde-haired boy continued, wary, "I could be of some assistance to you."

The blonde boy seemed to shrink back in his seat, followed by the girl by his side, as Tom looked at them. The latter felt fear as if the black-haired boy had tainted all he touched. "Nothing you can do right now, I'm afraid," his voice seemed cold, perhaps even emotionless. "I'm just wondering what to do this year. Progress  _ must  _ be made."

They nodded, quite eagerly, but had done it only thrice when Tom had looked at them and they nearly froze once more. All directed their look to the outside, as the train had begun slowing down. "Finally back," the girl said with a sigh of relief.

"I'll catch up," Tom said as if it was an order.

"Yes, Tom. Let's go, my dear," obeyed Lucius, pulling the girl who had been by his side, Narcissa, along with him by the hand. She didn't seem to mind much, as she smiled politely at the black haired boy and then nearly grinned at her boyfriend.

"Good luck," she managed before the door of the compartment slid shut once more.

Tom sat there for several minutes, alone, thinking. "I have no plan whatsoever," he admitted to himself out loud before spotting somebody outside and nearly gasped. He jumped to his feet and ran outside, carrying the little luggage he had brought into the compartment with him.

  


*******

  


Harry had just been saying hello to some people from the same year as him before they had parted ways. A couple of Gryffindors,  **_friends_ ** , one would assume. That  **one** was Tom Marvolo Riddle, mind you, and he had grown an uneasy feeling in his chest whenever he had seen Harry smiling around others. He wondered what it was called; he was pretty sure that somebody called it jealousy once but he wouldn't agree. "I don't get _ jealous _ ," he had replied with utter disgust and then stormed off to be actively jealous in a different room.

Tom was hopping off of the train with his suitcase when Harry had spotted him, as the boy had hopped.

  


"Tom, Tom!" he shouted excitedly, and for once, Tom grinned. Harry jumped into an excited hug, the height difference making him wrap his hands around Tom's stomach instead of his chest or neck. Tom, absolutely confused at this public display of  _ "emotions" _ , blinked and blushed at once. This earned them a few looks, and even a few wide eyes as Tom shyly hugged back.

“Why am I doing this,” he panicked in his thoughts and warded off any looks with a  _ look. _

Just as quickly, Harry jumped out of the hug. If he was a dog, Tom thought, he would be a Jack Russell. Never tired, always jumping on people. "So, how has y--"

"Tom, how was your summer?" Harry interrupted him to ask Tom the question that he was almost asked himself.

"Um, it was... adequate. An--" Tom sighed, as he was interrupted by yet another question, deciding that he would ask him later; which he did, about three hours later, when Harry finally stopped prodding him with inquiries.

  


*******

  


"Tom, can I ask you something?" Harry said as they walked through Hogsmeade one particular afternoon.

"You already are, Harry," the black-haired boy noted, before chewing on some Wizard candy that Harry had taken half an hour to convince him to buy, and yet another one to actually taste it. Tom ended up caving in at one point, and it was only due to Harry's grin when he had done so, not that he would have had admitted to such  _ crimes _ if he were asked.

Harry didn't bother replying to that. Instead, he got to the point as soon as possible: "Would you mind if I stayed this Christmas? You know, with you!" Tom stopped where he stood, and Harry grew worried again, due to last year's...  **incident.**

"Are you okay?" the younger boy asked.

"I'm quite alright, thank you," he retorted, not wishing to worry Harry anymore. As strange as it was for him to care about anybody likes this, Tom hadn't taken notice of it yet, mostly due to the strange nature of the posed question. "Come again?"

"Do you mind if I stayed with you this Christmas?" he repeated.

"A-At Hogwarts?" the boy nearly muttered.

Harry nodded.

"What of -- o-of your parents then?" he inquired, stumbling over words.

"They won't mind," Harry began explaining, "I'll write them a letter today and tell you as soon as they reply! Okay?" The boy really, _really,_ really hoped that Tom would say yes. He knew the taller boy; if asked, Riddle would say that he was fine staying mostly alone, but Harry knew. He knew that his friend got lonely and was too afraid or embarrassed to admit it.

"Fine, I accept your offer but I do ask you to consider going home to your..." Tom stalled. He couldn't bring himself to say... that word. "Dear ones," he finally mumbled.

"Thank you, oh, thank you, Tom!" Harry shouted instantaneously, jumping to give the Slytherin a hard-gripped hug. This was the new normal, hence Tom hugged back, despite any potential passersbyers and their looks.

Before he could say anything, Harry ran off again, to write the letter to his parents, and little sister, as soon as possible. James and Lily would be thrilled!

Tom knew so much of the boy, but the boy knew so little of Tom.  The Slytherin thought to himself that this may have partially been his fault, seeing as every time Harry attempted learning anything too personal of him, Tom would find an excuse not to answer. For example, he once nearly torched the Hogwarts Library before realising that spilling ink on them both would be a better tactic. Even magic had difficulty cleaning ink off of clothes, but it turned to be a fun, yet somewhat long and bothersome afternoon. The reason for his behaviour was his fear of rejection, especially by Harry, not that Tom realised it.

"He ignored everything that came after I had agreed," he thought out loud, "I should've truly seen that coming."

  


*******

  


Tom slowly opened his eyes, the calming dark blue of the Lake broken by the light rays of the sunshine, like cracks in a vase. It was a beautiful sight to see, even with a lack of any of the sea creatures; he was truly alone today. But he always was on Christmas mornings.

He sat up, lazily replacing his pajamas with his robes once more, before standing up and stretching. He had already noted the pile of presents in his room; no more than a few. Most came from a few professors who adored him and only some from friends; few people were allowed to gift him something. He ignored them for now, instead pacing out to breakfast.

Having reached the Hall, he had already spotted Harry, and the lack of House-arranged tables. This had become a daily routine in the past few days, with so few students left, so he had already sat down by Harry by the time he was noticed by any and all. "Morning, Harry. Please," he interrupted the boy before he could even think to speak, "Swallow your food first." Tom sighed two seconds later, having seen Harry gulp, but not chew his food. "Gryffindors, you're birds of a feather."

"You'll never guess what I got you!" Harry shouted, excited.

"You got me something? What is it?" He had not expected this.

"Aren't you going to guess?" asked Harry, sounding disappointed.

"Oh, um, well..." What could have possibly excited Harry so much? Anything. Everything. "Is it a boo--"

"It's a book!" Harry basically shoved the present into Tom's chest.

"You shouldn't have," he repeated what he had taught himself was the polite thing to say.

"Remember when my Mum taught me how to talk to Dad with the secret light code thing?" Tom unwrapped the paper, as Harry spoke. "Well, this is the code! How awesome is that? We could learn it and use it in class and stuff!"

"Wouldn't it be obvious?" Tom asked the obvious. "Plus, Harry, we don't share any classes,” he stated the obvious, raising a brow at the boy.

"We could still use it! And we could make it into sounds or something. That way it's just ours."

Tom stared at the cover. How muggle. But Harry liked that. Maybe Tom could  _ learn  _ to like it? "If you really want to..." His voice trailed of, but Harry was already ready to begin. He had barely allowed Tom to eat before rushing to teach him.

**  
**

*******

  


It had been the last day of the winter holidays and the two boys had been walking the corridors of the castle, as they had grown accustomed to lately. They spoke of little things, Harry mostly taking the lead, as was the norm, when the boy mentioned a peculiar interest of his.

  


"No. I said no. What if we got caught?" Tom was not pleased with this idea. "What then?"

"Didn't you ever wanna do something like this about the other Houses?" Harry asked. He must have. Everybody did! "The truth."

"... Perhaps. But if we got caught--"

"We won't! Not if we're carefully. Let's go now, everybody's asleep." Tom stared at him, trying to say no. But it was as if he saw a puppy, and not Harry; cute, adorable, and possessing a face that you cannot say no to. "I'll be good and quiet! I just wanna see it for a few minutes, please.  _ Pleeeeeaaaaasss-- _ "

"Alright!" the older boy caved in. "Alright, alright… Dear god, Harry, fine."

He led him to and down the stairs several times, in confusing turns and twists, before they had finally found their spot. The password was said, the entrance opened wide, and the room ahead awaited. Harry peered; _darkness there, nothing more._


	4. Bond and Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But Thought has need of no such things,   
> For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.”

“Are you satisfied? Can we leave now?”

 

The weak lights illuminated the large room amiably. The lamps were decorated with the familiar, empowering shade of green, as was most of the furniture in the selected space. As the opening closed behind the two students, Harry stared in awe at the opposite wall - pure, double-layered glass, charmed to be invisible. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but Tom held him back, uninterested in stepping in any further than they had originally.

 

“It’s so pretty,” Harry uttered, as Tom shot him a look.  _ Elegant, cultivated, tasteful, a  _ **_king’s_ ** _ lair. Anything but pretty, Harry,  _ Tom failed to remark. “Let’s go to your room!”

 

“What?” the Slytherin twitched, surveying Harry somberly. “No. Somebody will see you.”

 

“I just want a glance at it.  _ Maybe _ ,” the boy said, “It’s different from  _ my _ room. I wanna see!”

 

“ **_Stop shouting,_ ** ” he replied sternly. “You’re a… A Gryffindor.” That he _was_ , Tom knew, though he didn’t like saying it like that. “You stand out in this room, let alone any other,” he pointed to the male Chambers, as a passing, peculiarly large and unfortunately timed sea creature drew his eyes to itself. “We’re leaving. Immediat--” Oh dear.

 

*******

 

_ “Potter,”  _ he hissed, in the  _ eigengrau _ -coloured darkness, his eyes scanning the subtly-green room for the raven-haired boy.  _ “Merlin help me.” _ He closed his eyes as a bright light hit his eyes, one that he knew too well. Harry, now illuminated by the bright glow upon the wand’s tip within his hands, sat on the further edge of the bed - Tom’s bed - and was staring at a ring, attached to a chain. The boy turned to look at Tom and gave a slight gasp: the Slytherin’s face had become a mix of emotions, most prominent the  **rage and fear** . Harry might have broken through the wall that Tom had built around himself, but this was different. A colossal wall around his heart, his emotions stuck, frozen in place.

 

Harry dropped the necklace upon the bed, stepped back and tripped, his robes betraying him as they slid under him. He ended up on his back, an aching pain rushing through the back of his head, pulsing, as it spread to the front. Harry shook his head, sitting up, trying to blink away the pain. He ran his palms against his skin, rubbing, until the room stopped tilting, twisting. The  _ lumos _ spell wore off minutes ago, leaving the room grey once again. In the little light that there was, mostly from the cracked open door that lead back to the Common Room, Tom sat on the ground. The wand laid by his side, his hands too occupied, cupping his own face, wiping away the tears. His lips parted time and time again, in a pattern, as if he was speaking, but Harry heard nothing. The boy squinted at the other, struggling, his own breath a deep struggle, one that he couldn’t hear.

 

Something popped and sound rushed back into the world; ugly sobbing, deep, hurt breaths, and apologies:  _ “I’msorry, s-sorry, sososorry--  _ **gasp** \--  _ “Sorr-” _  He was suddenly thrown back into the memories of this very moment, of crying, alone and guilt-filled. He _ killed _ his mother by being born. He was the weird one. He was the one who was always to blame for things he didn’t even understand or know. He was supposed to be dea--

 

_ Love has earth to which she clings   _ _   
_ _ With hills and circling arms about—   _ _   
_ _ Wall within wall to shut fear out.   _ _   
_ _ But Thought has need of no such things,   _ _   
_ __ For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.

 

A warm embrace came, lifting him through the darkness as if he had given him wings. Those fearsome and dark words that he had thought and repeated fell and ran as the day’s light touched them and even their deaths were hushed away by Harry’s arms.

 

_ On snow and sand and turf, I see   _ _   
_ _ Where Love has left a printed trace   _ _   
_ _ With straining in the world’s embrace.   _ _   
_ _ And such is Love and glad to be.   _ _   
_ __ But Thought has shaken his ankles free.

 

“M-my mother…”

 

“What of her?”

 

“She had died, by my hand.” When no reply but a puzzled frown came, he explained. “Sh-She died birthing me and I am to bla-”

 

“Not true, not true at all! Things happen, Tom.” Harry wiped away tears, hugging him stronger.

Tom spilt forth his heart and Harry soaked it in as if it was the breath of life itself. _   
_ __ __   


_ Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom   _ _   
_ _ And sits in Sirius’ disc all night,   _ _   
_ _ Till day makes him retrace his flight,   _ _   
_ _ With smell of burning on every plume,   _ _   
_ _ Back past the sun to an earthly room. _ _   
_ __ _   
_ _ His gains in heaven are what they are.   _ _   
_ _ Yet some say Love by being thrall   _ _   
_ _ And simply staying possesses all   _ _   
_ _ In several beauty that Thought fares far   _ _   
_ __ To find fused in another star.

 

The rest, he forgot. They both forgot what came next on that particular night, but both remember the following morning. Harry woke from a slight stir against his shoulder, a gentle hand hoping to wake him easily. He blinked at the morning light, the pain from last night returning, although lighter now. He pushed it away, looking up at a smiling Tom, who had just woken, too.

 

“Good morning.”

 

“Mmh.”

 

“How do you fe-- Oh, gods. Quickly, under the bed,” he suddenly hissed and pushed Harry over the edge, which resulted in a loud  _ YELP. _

Lucius stormed into the room, an alarmed complexion on his pale face. “Tom, are you alright?”

 

“Merlin, don’t you know how to knock?” This made Malfoy gulp.

 

“Yes, bu--”

 

“But what? Do you actually have anything half intelligent to report or are you just wasting my time, as  _ usual _ ?”

 

“Pardon me.”

 

“Pardon me,  _ indeed!  _ Pardon me,” Tom echoed, which made no actual sense to any of the three boys. Lucius and Harry squinted, puzzled faces trying to figure out what they ought to be doing now. “Save me a seat at breakfast.” The blonde boy left the room, quietly and carefully closing the door. A moment of silence, before “Roll out time. Literally.”

 

*******

 

They haven’t spoken a word about the events that had come to pass that evening, not until much later. In fact, it hadn’t happened until the following year, just as the Christmas holidays were upon them again. But, other things had happened before that.

It had been no more than a few months later, yet the weather had changed already, it growing warm and sunny once more, and the cool shade of the tree provided them with the break they needed. “Tom?” He merely hummed back, hands behind his head, the rolled up sleeves of his white and Slytherin-marked button-up shirt had passed just beyond his elbows. It made him feel better. Confident. Lately, that had been hard to find. “When’s your birthday, Tom?”

 

This inquiry caused a bit of uncomfort to the boy, but he replied nonetheless. “Thirty-first of December, ninety-twenty-six. Why?”

 

“So, you’re fifteen?”

 

“Naturally. Why?”

 

“I owe you at least two gifts then.”

 

“Wait, what?” Tom wasn’t sure what that meant.

 

“Well, I never got you a birthday gift an--”

 

“No, I remember it. You presented me with a gift, in the Great Hall.” It was the Morse Code book, by his side even now. He promptly pointed at it.

 

“For Christmas. Not your birthday, though!”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Of course it matters!” Harry whined, causing Tom to frown. It was all the same to him.

 

“You’re forgiven, now and forever. No need for gifts.” Tom didn’t need gifts. He had no need for such things, surely.

 

“That’s not how it works!”

 

“Don’t, Harry. Just don’t,” Tom sighed. As soon as Harry grabbed his own ankle and tucked it underneath himself, sitting on it, and went back to watching the Lake peacefully, the Slytherin knew that he had lost the battle. He doesn’t know when, but Harry will present him with two extra gifts at one point. He closed his eyes and let the breeze put him into a gentle slumber.

 

He woke hours later, with a wide, wild and feline-like yawn. He squinted around, Harry nowhere to be found, and the Sun being considerably lower than what seemed like mere seconds ago. He made a move to rise, lifting his bag off of the ground, when he felt something move on his head. He froze,  _ slowly reaching up. _ Soft, thin, silky. He gently pulled the object off of his hair and stared at it. Well, he’d have to congratulate Potter on his craftsmanship. For somebody who couldn’t even make a flower crown three days ago, the boy learns fast. He stared and smiled at it for a long time, a blush rising to his cheeks and past. When he had finally looked back towards the castle, he uttered:

 

_ “But Thought has need of no such things,   _ _   
_ _ For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.” _


End file.
